Almost
by TheGodmother2
Summary: "In war, truth is the first casualty." Longmire Post Season 5.
1. Chapter 1

**_Post Season 5_**

" _In war, truth is the first casualty." Aeschylus_

He switches his hands from his front pockets to under his arms with such frequency he begins to notice his own anxious behavior. It makes him odd. His worn boot presses against the wall holding up his thick weight. The door closes behind him, the metal lock latching into place, and the latex smell whiffs past him as Doc Weston snaps off his gloves and casually tosses them into the trash.

"So ah, what's up Doc?" He smiles and his dimples shine through but his face grows serious as the doctor rolls his eyes.

"Really, Travis."

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded." He smiles, "I didn't mean to smile either. You know. It's not funny." He runs his hands along his biceps, folding the grip around his chest tighter, "It's a nervous reaction. You gotta believe me."

The two men pause, the pause that tells us nothing good will come after, "How is she, doc?"

"Deputy Moretti will be just fine with time."

His voice lowers and there is a detectible sadness, "The baby. Is the baby ok?"

He shakes his head and his eyes stay focused, "She miscarried the baby."

"But we heard the heartbeat."

He looks down at his worn boots, now evenly spaced on the linoleum floor, holding his weight.

"I'm maybe the father." His nervous smile reappears as he wipes the moisture from his eye. He snakes past the sullen medic and stands next to her bed.

"Hey." His voice is tempered by the possibility of what could have been and the reality of where they are now.

"Hey Travis." Her eyes are red and swollen and they don't need to speak of the sadness they both feel but for much different reasons. It's there even if it's not his to share. She looks away and then back at him.

Meg slowly pushes the door in and she smiles because it's natural and not because she's a bitch.

"Deputy Moretti, you are ready to be discharged." She looks at Travis, still smiling, "Is this handsome man taking charge of you?"

Travis nods and Vic scoffs.

"Oh, I see." But she really doesn't. "I have your prescription. You will need someone to drive you with the medication they have already administered.

Travis clears his throat, "I can take you home." He stutters a little though suddenly regains his confidence, "I'm parked just outside."

Meg looks back at Travis, "I'll just go get the paperwork and the wheelchair." She says pointing toward the door.

He wheels her out and tucks her in her singlewide bed. He promised to be her friend and he's living up to his part. That's what he's thinking about as he feels the last drop of the third beer on the tip of his tongue. He folds his arms on the Red Pony bar and presses his forehead down. He's not sure what he feels other than loss covered with a thin layer of sadness. He sets the empty mug next to red plastic burger basket in front of him and doesn't notice the large dark shadow enveloping him.

The lawman's face bears the scars from the fight with his best friend and that more than anything has him less than compassionate though he asks because it is in his nature to do so and his instincts kick in.

"What's wrong, Travis?"

Travis runs his fingers across his close cropped beard his eyes suddenly filling with wetness and remorse, "Life just sucks sometimes, you know."

Walt's lips press firm waiting for the rest of his thought.

"I, ah, I thought I was going to be a father."

Walt's eyebrows raise.

"She lost the baby."

"I'm sorry." He reaches out and grips his shoulder.

"Yeah, me too. I mean I guess."

"You guess, what?"

"That I'm the father."

"But you just said."

"It was a 50/50 chance."

"Oh"

Travis leans forward, "Me or you."

"What?" Walt's response is louder than he expects and his sudden escalation surprises even him.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Travis nods his head and turns to face him, "Vic." His eyes land on Walt's, "It's Vic. She lost the baby."

Walt pauses with his hands on his hips trying to comprehend.

"I didn't know."

Travis's face goes blank. He's a little too dumb and a little more drunk to lie, "I found out by accident."

Walt leans forward, pressing his weight on the bar, "Have you mentioned this to anyone else?"

He shakes his head, "Nah."

"Don't."

His eyebrows once again give away his question.

"She doesn't need something like this going around." His voice lowers, "Do you understand?"

"Yeah, sure." Travis reaches for his burger and pushes the tray away.

Walt leans on the bar, his stomach tight and his heart hurts. He's not sure what to do with either as his brain tries to comprehend Vic and Travis and his inexplicable jealousy and disappointment all rolled in and mixed together as one emotional mess on his insides.

He casually asks, "You seen Henry?"

Travis shakes his head.

Walt knocks on the hardened bar wood with his knuckles, smacks his lips, and walks out of the bar without another word. Travis eats his burger and with the last bite wonders how the lawman will deal with Vic and his may be baby.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you for the very kind reviews and messages. It's nice to be back.**_

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He wants to go to her. His fingers wrap around the leather braided steering wheel and his thoughts circle and twist and come back around all within the blink of his eyes. He weaves the Bronco and turns onto Main Street, past the courthouse, and heads south only realizing he doesn't know where she is. He inhales deeply not aware that he was holding his breath and then without any precipitating warning his thoughts come crashing down into his spirit.

 _If she wanted you to know she would have told you._

 _It's not your baby._

At that one he slows down, checks the mirror out of habit, and pulls over coming to a gentle rest on the side of the road. He gets out and struts to the front of the old 4-wheeler as if he has a mission or a purpose. The reality is that he is lost and a bit confused. Underneath it all he doesn't know what to make of it other than it is surprising and he is concerned for her. Just a good turn, she deserves it. She's gone through hell.

Walt presses the meaty flesh of his palms against the hood and stretches his back thin as he leans his head forward and thinks. The lines around his eyes form as he squints back up toward the sun and his mouth frowns down the way it does when he's not fond of the ideas he's formulating. He stands up straight, hands on his hips, and decides to override his compulsion to act. He spits. It lands on the edge of the road as he climbs back in the old Bronc.

The staircase seems steeper after every step and the drag of his boot is a little more noticeable.

"Ruby." His voice deep and accustomed to hiding pain. He takes the post-it notes and stops, one leg in front of the other.

"Ferg." He doesn't bother looking up as he reads but doesn't comprehend the notes.

"Hey, Walt." The younger man acknowledges and goes back to typing on his laptop. Whatever it is, holding his interest.

Her desk is empty as he knew it would be. He tilts his hat and the shadow cuts the floorboards.

"Vic out on a call?" The obvious question if he didn't know better.

"Took a sick day." She looks up, "She hasn't been feeling too good lately."

He smacks his lips and bites the inside edge of his lip.

"Ferg, looks like we'll be doubling up for a bit."

"Eamon had to go get shot." He smiles and rolls his eyes at his attempt at humor and Walt's stomach clinches just before it drops at the mention of his name. He hadn't thought of him or about him and this situation. The very idea that he just put into the far recesses of his cognitive brain was now front and center to the reality of the situation. Eamon very well could be the father of Vic's baby. His face flushes at the unease he felt at her open confession they weren't dating. He hadn't questioned it then. It caught him off-guard because he didn't know he was supposed to be on-guard. There had been no resolution with him and Donna. Well, no outward resolution.

He just worked at working. His fingers trace his lips as if they remember what his brain was denying. He fought hard not to think of the softness of her lips and the feeling as if her heart were pulsing through them. He wanted to feel it again that first hit of gloriously magnificent desire incomprehensible in its beauty. That's what she felt like and he wanted it again and again. His heart hurt in part for his own selfish loss but also for the friend that didn't feel safe enough to confide in him. He glances at Ferg as he shifts his weight and closes the door behind him.

Ferg was scared to tell him the truth not so long ago. For all of his billowy bluster he thought he handled him well but not well enough he guesses. Walt slowly descends into his chair, the inside of his lip once again perched between his teeth, and he thinks he shouldn't think of her which assuredly means he will.

She takes another pill before the prescribed time because she doesn't want to remember anything. The pain in her heart prevents her brain from fully disengaging. She can't sleep as the tears slowly and painstakingly drop from her full eyes onto the side of her pillow. In the silence, she takes in the aged and worn patterns and electric plate covers. She likes the charm of the place. It is dated but it is clean. It is hers. All hers. She likes that the most. Her hand tightens then loosens around the invisible pouch on her stomach. She guesses this is where the baby was. Another teardrop falls on her pillow and she can hear it echo. She can't really but it feels like there should be a sound.

She thinks about going home, giving up, quitting, but most of all she's glad she didn't tell Eamon. She didn't want his distant judgment because that's what he would have done. She knew it in the hospital and she knew that she really didn't know who the father was. He would never forgive her she thinks and she shakes her head because she doesn't really know how Walt got mixed in her thoughts. He has nothing to do with this though he has everything to do with how in the depth of her soul, the part she never lets anyone see, she wishes the baby was his or one day will be. Her face blushes and the heat from humiliation pours over her body in an inside out flash of raw truthfulness.

She's past him but the fresh regret is still with her. There were times she wondered if he felt it, what she felt, when she kissed him. It was pure impulse. An unplanned act with zero expectancy of reciprocation or results. In fact, the fact that he opened his eyes was surprise enough, but at that she couldn't pull away because it was the purest form of truth passing between them. It was her goodbye to what she thought she wanted and it was an awakening of what she never dreamed it was. It was real.

 _He can never know_ she sings as a refrain in her head. She can't live with the cast of condescension that would follow his gaze like a shadow. She closes her eyes and reads the post procedure medical protocol once more. When she finishes the warning signs for emergency treatment she rolls on her back, the afternoon light filters through her pale curtains, making her skin warm and translucent. She thinks about it in her hazy oxycodone fog and her lips part, "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry I lost you. I'll always love you."

This time, the tears that fall sound like small explosions on the side of her pillow and with each drop a tiny piece of her heart breaks with the fragments of salty water.


	3. Chapter 3

He goes to her. He slows the Bronco, cuts the lights, and coasts to a gentle stop. The brakes squeak as it groans to a stop. Walt, shoves the gearshift into park. He scratches his face dropping his fingers down to his neck and back up before wrapping them around the door handle. The radio crackles as his boot hits the pavement.

"Walter." Her voice softens through the cold air waves.

He clicks the mic, "Yup."

"You have a call from Cady."

He rolls his eyes toward the headliner, thinking he missed another dinner, but he knows there haven't been any dinners lately.

"Go ahead."

"She needs you at her office."

When he doesn't answer quickly she intercedes, "Walter, she sounded scared. You need to get out there."

He turns the key starting the aged brawler before he replies, "On my way."

The parallel pool of lights brightens the darkening path and they dissipate into the night away from the trailer park.

Cady shivers and her eyes widen at the sight of her father blackening her doorway. His knuckles rap against the discolored wood.

"Cady."

He turns the knob out of habit. The door presses open. His fingers graze against the Colt on his hip out of conditioning and maybe out of recent experience.

His hat tilts, "Cady." The love shines through and her teeth chatter, "I'm here."

Walt stands still listening, "You okay, Punk?"

"I…I think so."

"You hurt."

His legs plant, while his fingers tighten his grip around the pearl grips.

"No. I'm not hurt." She pulls the blanket tighter under her chin.

He closes the door and holsters his weapon. He perches next to her, "What's going on, Cady?" He sweeps the lose red hair from her forehead.

"I think something is really wrong."

"You sick?"

His hand instinctively flips backwards and presses against her forehead.

"You're clammy but I don't think you have a fever."

She rubs her nose with the blanket, "I did my first sweat."

"You've done a sweat before."

"Not a real one."

"Oh."

She searches his eyes in the faded light of her office, "You're not mad, are you?"

He shakes his head, "Nope."

The silence fills the void between them taking the place of the words that should be passing between them. He folds his legs and moves her ponytail, a slight smile traversing his lips, she will always be his little girl despite the distance between them.

"What did you see?"

"Is it always like this?"

"Not always."

"Henry. I think he's dead."

"In your vision?"

"He was hanging from a tree, Dad." Her hands cover her face.

"I…I don't remember everything." Her voice seeps through her fingers but they fail to filter the fear and pain beneath them.

The tears run down her cheekbones as she looks at him, "I remember you just bellowing this awful scream."

"I'm right here, Punk." He tries to smile to set her at ease.

She shakes her head.

"I'm scared."

"It's ok."

His knees crack as he unfolds his legs. "Let's get some cold water in ya."

He twists open the plastic cap off the bottle he pulls from her fridge.

"Drink this."

She takes the bottle and wipes her eyes and sips the water relishing the coolness against her skin.

"Have you talked to Henry?"

He smacks his lips and looks away, "Not lately." His eyes land on hers.

Cady takes a long drink, presses her hand against her lips, feeling the moisture that's left behind.

"I'm not sure what it all means, Dad but it's not good." She shakes her head slowly.

He looks around for the first time really taking in the space, "You living here now?"

"Not really." She bites her lip. "Sometimes." She admits.

His lips thin recognizing the symptoms.

"I'd feel better if you stayed with me tonight." His protective instinct on overdrive.

She grunts a halfhearted laugh, "You sure Donna won't mind me messing up your quiet time."

He smacks his lips, "Nope."

Walt helps her to her feet and her arms wrap around his waist, her head to his chest, and he holds her tightly.

"It's ok, Punk."

He can feel her shiver, "I know."

She takes a few deep breaths trying to calm her spirit. It helps, but not a lot. The cab of the Bronco is silent except for the occasional grunt the Bronco eking out over the bumpy county road.

"How is that going, by the way?"

He looks over, "What?"

"Donna."

"It's not."

"Oh?"

"No."

"You wanna talk about it?" She tries not to sound as uncomfortable as she feels.

"Not really."

She smiles, "Good."

He smiles, "Good?"

"Yeah."

He smiles wider and squeezes her hand.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I mean I should be better at listening."

He looks out of the window into the darkness and settles into his thoughts.

"Bad timing. That's all."

"I know what that's like."

They never talk about Branch or what was or could have been. They don't talk about him now but his presence in the cab of the Bronco is almost reassuring. He was the divide and the bridge between them.

"I'm sorry, Cady."

She peers at his silhouette. His hand abandons the steering wheel and begins to guide his thoughts. She continues to stare at his extremely rare admission of wrong doing.

"I'm sorry, I've been an asshole lately."

"I wouldn't say asshole."

"I would." His lips turn up in a half-grin half-smirk.

"Will we ever get it right?"

"I sure hope so."

"Me, too."

She settles in the cabin while he walks the perimeter with his rifle. He starts a fire and the kettle while she warms her extremities.

"Thank you."

She looks up at his face remembering the stern echo of his voice tempered with a soft gentleness of her childhood. He peels open a paper pouch plopping the tea bag in a Hartford insurance mug.

"I never thanked you for finding me." He points over to the floor where his blood still slightly stains the wood floor but you would have to know to look for it to see it.

She smiles not sure if saying you are welcome is really appropriate in this situation.

"Is that why you broke up? Because of what happened?"

He looks to the side and stretches his jaw, "I'm not sure we were ever really together. It was something but it wasn't all at the same time."

She smiles and pulls her hair back but she's not happy just uncomfortable. She's always wanted to be able to talk to him but she never really understood what that would really mean until this moment.

The kettle whistles and he pours the hot water into the Hartford cup. He slips in a thin very worn silver spoon and stirs the contents.

"Your favorite, Chamomile." Sitting on the coffee table he leans forward, "You're going to be ok, Cady."

"What about you?"

"I'll be ok, too."

"Will you?"

"I hope so."

"Hope's got nothing to do with it."

"I am, Cady. I'm ok."

"How come I don't believe you?"

He doesn't answer her as he stacks the blanket and pillow in his arms.

"Take the bed. The sheets are clean. I'll bunk out here."

"You don't…"

He cuts her off by shaking his head still reserving his authority as a parent and she acquiesces realizing that it is probably part of some elaborate safety plan he has cooked up in his brain.

She shivers for a moment, "Thanks, Dad."

"Why don't you take a hot shower and warm up. Grab a pair of my sweats and a t-shirt out of my drawer."

"Ok." Taking another sip of the soothing tea.

Pulling off his boots he settles into the office chair. He dials her number.

"Hello." She sounds sleepy.

"Did I wake you?"

"Yeah."

"Go back to sleep."

"Why? It's never stopped you before."

He smiles into the receiver picturing her a little mad but a little more sarcastic in a tank top and panties. He's pictured her a lot like that over the years. Usually she's wearing navy blue. In his imagination.

"Go back to sleep."

"No, what do you want?'

"Ruby said you weren't feeling well."

Her heart stopped. Then it raced. She sat up quickly compartmentalizing the afternoon. He couldn't possibly know.

"I'm fine." She refuses to panic as her hand goes to her forehead.

"You sure you don't need anything?"

"Nothing saltines and 7-up won't fix."

"Ok."

"Why are you calling me, Walt?"

"Just being a friend."

"Is that what we are?"

"I'd sure like to think so."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N - So, check it out. I haven't had a lot of time. I appreciate your patience. I will update when I can. Thank you for reading and reviewing.**_

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You know when you know and he knew. He pounds on the non-insulated door waking her like an IED exploding in her cramped living space.

"What the fuck?"

She pulls the door open just missing her forehead. Her polymer frame Glock pressed against her tender stomach.

"Hey"

He does that thing with his voice and her eyes blink from the sunlight. She relaxes from the realization the threat isn't real but in a strange way it is.

"What the hell?"

"You didn't show up for work." His eyes don't avert from her tired features, "Ruby tried calling…" His hips shift and his finger points forward to an imaginary phone.

"Fuck." She looks over, picks up her iPhone and steps back, tacitly inviting him inside the cramped quarters.

"My phone is dead."

She sighs and he steps forward.

"You want some coffee?"

He ducks inside and gives her a soft smile, "Love some."

His long legs take up the narrow path between the seat cushions and he turns his hat up like they do in God's country. He gently places the full paper bag on the counter and points, "Saltines and 7-up." He smiles. His fingers pull through his soft brown hair and he pats it down. He cares how he looks or maybe it's what he's thinking as he soaks her in noticing her smooth legs and breasts pushing her tank top forward.

He's comfortable as he leans forward, "Can I help?"

She nods her head, not looking at him, and pulls on her Absaroka County Sheriff's dark brown hoodie and zips it halfway up covering her braless tank. She feels his eyes on her skin and it feels warm like sheets just out of the dryer and she likes it.

She pours his cup before it's finished brewing and hands it to him, "Thanks, Walt. I do need the day off."

He looks into the black coffee before blowing it cool and thinks about his thinking, "You've been through a lot."

Her eyes are sharp, "I can handle it."

His face softens and he takes another sip and wraps his other hand around the cup, "I know you can, Vic."

She sits opposite him, her hand on her stomach, and she sips her sweet milky coffee. It's silent between them because she chooses it this time.

He doesn't do that nervous thing he does, "I wonder if you're safe out here? You know with the Irish mob I pissed off?"

"I'm not staying at your fucking cabin." She rolls her eyes even though she's past it.

"I wasn't suggesting that. I just thought…"

"Thought what? It would be crowded with your girlfriend there." She blows into her cup and tastes the fullness of the coffee.

He looks over and then locks his eyes on hers, "Donna," He pauses, "We broke up. I guess you call it that. We weren't really ever together. I guess."

"Shut the fuck up."

He does. His face is frozen like thunder as he processes the honesty passing between them.

"Walt." She leans forward. "I'm sorry." Her hand touches his knee, "Really."

His finger glances the back of her knuckles like a feather dusting. "Ah." His eyes look up to the Navajo white ceiling and back down again as the corner of his mouth bends slightly.

"I worry about you out here by yourself."

She leans back, "I'm not by myself."

His eyebrows rise, "Oh."

"Travis is just a couple of trailers down."

His face scrunches as he looks away dismissing the notion, "Didn't know you were so close."

"We're friends." She takes a swallow of her coffee, "Pretty good friends actually."

His lips purse like he's deciding which tact to take.

"Ok, Vic."

Her nose wrinkles, "Ok, what? I don' t need your fucking permission."

"I know."

"You know. You don't know anything."

"I know."

Her hands surround her forehead as she sighs, "You can't do this."

"What?" His voice is soft and he smiles a little and a year ago she would have lost her shit at his tactic but she's over it and him because she doesn't trust what she feels. It made her weak. It made her vulnerable and she's not good at either.

"Listen, Vic." He simply stops talking as he looks into his nearly empty coffee cup. His chest expands and her eyes meet his, "Maybe I had just better go?"

Her eyes close a beat too long in disappointment in knowing she is right, "Whatever."

He smacks his lips but doesn't say anything and she pinches her nose forcing her eyes to shut.

"Ok, Vic." He drains his coffee as he stands, places the cup in the sink like he was trained well, and looks at her once more. His lips purse with the quiet confidence he exudes so well. It's just where they are now.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Merry Christmas**_

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"Walt, look….."

She faces him, her hand twists on her hip, the other pushing her bangs back. Her exasperation blows out with the force of her breath pushing her feelings to the surface, "I just have a lot…"

She's not able to finish her words as he closes the paper thin space between them sealing his lips over hers. His hands fold around her face and he thinks he should apologize but his heart won't let him. It's the surest thing he's done in a long time.

Their eyes stay blurry and out of focus for longer than a minute but shorter than either than either of them desires. Everything he needs to say to her is bottled in his throat but pours from his eyes. She's not really over him. She knows that.

"I can't."

"Shhh" His lips barely move and his finger tip rests on the crown of her lip. "It's ok, Vic. Whatever it is it can wait till tomorrow." He didn't plan to kiss her though he's not sorry he did. He's just not really ready for the truth and it dawns on him that she isn't either and that's probably why she didn't' tell him. His hand covers the entire crown of his hat and he seats it perfectly on his head. His chin tilts down.

"Bullshit." She says, "You can't just do that and leave."

He looks up to the not so far away ceiling just above his head and pinches his fingers, "I was this close to a clean getaway."

She smiles because it's that kind of shit that makes her love him and he smiles back as she stands her ground in the tiny space. Turning to face her, his butt leans against the stainless steel sink, "Ok, Vic."

She tilts her head, "What was that?" Her voice is soft as her eyes search his. She's not fighting him but she doesn't want to be taken for a fool.

"I didn't really think about it. It just felt like what I should do."

"You think about everything, Walt."

His jaw twists and he bites his lip as his weight shifts, "I wanted to be awake the next time I kissed you."

"I kissed you." She says, "And technically you were awake, eventually, I mean."

"You woke me up."

They finally look at each other, really look, "Vic, I'm awake now."

"Don't go acting like the prom queen."

"I'm not." He smiles and it's big and his face flushes.

His hand slips behind her, he's powerful in his possession of her but he's thoughtful, and his chin buries into her neck as her arms collapse around his shoulders. His lips are warm on her neck. His beard tickles her cheek and his whiskers fold beneath the texture of her skin. She gasps which makes her embarrassed and he laughs which makes her blush.

"Your beard is so soft." She whispers, "I wasn't expecting that."

He slides his head forward and pulls her closer into his body which is hard and light all at the same time. She's dizzy. He doesn't kiss her this time. His eyes are glossy and his fingers gather a handful of her sweatshirt in a ball.

"Come home with me." He whispers in her ear.

She shakes her head half into his chest and half into his chin. "I can't."

He pulls her closer and hugs her tighter and gently exhales into the air behind her.

"Tomorrow." He looks at her, "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure. If I feel better, yeah." She wants to tell him but it's all too fast and she doesn't trust it.

"Ok, Vic."

She holds his arm, "It's not like that, Walt."

"I know." He searches her face and looks at her as if he's waiting for her confession. "Good night, Vic."

Their fingers slide apart, "Good night."

She turns toward the door, her lips twist as she processes just what the hell happened in the last two minutes and thirty-four seconds. He unfolds out of the door and his boots crunch the asphalt outside as his footsteps slowly fade. He thinks about killing the engine and watching over her through the darkness but unlike any other he knows she can handle anything and that scares him the most. It's part of what's kept him away. The challenge of her. The fight.

She takes the next two days off from work which dovetail into her regular off days and he is on the edge nearly ready to propel himself downward without her. He's wound up and the anger starts to bubble as it did in the alley the moment he realized he needed her just as he needs air. He slides his finger between his teeth and he begins to think he's made a mistake. Granted, he didn't leave a message the first time he called and the second time she said she was sleeping so he hung up and he thought about calling a third time but he didn't want to feel like a stalker or worse an impetuous horny teenager. He needs to see her, to talk to her, that's his dilemma but his anger is fueled by her silence. She hasn't told him everything though intellectually he understands he doesn't have the right to know but he wants her to trust him and he absolutely doesn't deserve that. It's complicated he thinks.

Ruby's gentle knock and enter fades him from his thoughts.

"Walter." She places the canary yellow note on his desk. "Vic, called said she would be back on Monday."

"Good." He says forcing his face not to reveal any emotion. Monday is too long he thinks. "She say anything else?" His fingers drum his desk. It's his tell but he's completely unaware.

"Nope." She shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders.

She answered on the second ring and he's hoping against hope it means she's just as anxious as he is, "Hey."

"Hey." She sounds good. Rested and good.

"I'll be back on Monday."

"Yeah, Ruby just told me." He smooths his hair down, "That's great, Vic."

She clears her throat and pictures him standing with the phone pressed against his thigh, "Hey, um, if you're not doing anything maybe you can come by later for dinner. It's nothing special just some spaghetti and garlic bread and a green salad." She's talking too fast because she's nervous and her stomach hurts because she wants him to say yes more than anything.

"Um."

His hesitation makes her want to vomit.

"I um would love to um I have to see Doc Weston at 1800 um I can come by after if that's not too late?"

"That's perfect timing."

"Perfect timing."

"What?"

He can feel his heart beating in his ear as the words tumble out. "Just like the sound of it."


End file.
